If Kevin Garnett were your normal, Garden variety NBA superstar, his all too-public salary debate with the Minnesota Timberwolves might have overshadowed his on-court exploits. Yet moves like the one he pulled on the Rockets on November 19th ,’96 make you realize that KG’s rep is, was and will always be safe.

What started out as an innocent late-game possession for the T-Wolves, who were getting smoked in the Summit, ended in straight playoff pandemonium. Starbury was runnin’ things for Minnesota as usual, and he started the wheels turning on this face-saving play when he straight freaked Emanual Davis at the three point line. Steph drove the lane and dished off to James Robinson along the right baseline. In a move that only he could do so wildly, “Hollywood” tried to loft a shot over Kevin Willis’ McHale-like limbs.

The shot, a mere three-footer, floated over the hoop: airball. But Willis was going to pay for trying to block Robinson’s shot. Willis has been guarding Kevin Garnett, an now KG had free reign on the far side of the basket.

Lurking outside the key, KG was like a hawk about to swoop in for the kill. The ball—and Willis—would be the prey. Taking flight from the left block, KG collected the airball way below the rim in a position that would love any other player in the league with no choice but to calmly collect the rebound, land and make a move back at the hoop. But Da Kid is not like any other player.

He took the sinking shot, bought it down to his knees and then exploded back up to the rack for a vicious two-handed jam., all in one powerfully smooth motion. The once-proud Willis was left cowering beneath he rim as the ball glanced off him on its way down.

You may have seen putback slams before, but none ever rocked the house like this. And Kev knew it. He let out a primal scream that served as an exclamation point at the end of a brilliantly-crafted sentence.

The 6th Man: Whew. That was close. If the off-season had been a couple of weeks longer, I might have actually begun watching soccer or something. With nothing much to do—oh yeah, except for putting out three issues of SLAM plus Jordan—I decided to draw up my annual list of resolutions, a.k.a. promises I make to myself that I usually end up breaking pretty quickly.

This year’s different, though. I’ve grown up during the past few months; it’s time for me to calm the F down and not take things so personally. (From here on in, that’s going to be Russ’ job. He’s real good at it, too.) So I made a list, crossing out the things I knew I couldn’t live with. I ended up with 10.

Well, here goes nothing:

1 ) Will not refer to it as “the Knicks’ year” until they actually win something.

2 ) Will not refer to Reggie Miller as “bony”, “one-dimensional”, a “professional loser”, “overrated” or even a “puss”.

3 ) Will not purposely pick on a team (i.e., the San Antonio Spurs) simply to anger its overly-emotional fans.

4 ) Will not root for Stephon Marbury to leave the T-Wolves and come to New York after next season. He & KG belong together.

5 ) Will not send scathing letters to 9-year olds who tell me I suck.

6 ) Refer to No. 2. Now substitute the name “Toby Bailey”.

7 ) “Dennis Rodman is the bomb.” There, I said it. Are you happy now?

8 ) Will stop trying to figure out who Don Nelson’s really working for.

9 ) Will try and call my mother—a Celtics fan, no less—more often.

10 ) Will attempt to use the phrase “letter of the law” in a sentence regarding an NBA game while not laughing out loud.

You know, I was chill with my resolutions for about a week. I felt like a new man—the anger and bitterness were almost all gone. I slept better. And even Vinny Baker getting traded didn’t heighten my disgust for the Milwaukee Sucks management. (On the other hand, nothing could heighten that disgust.) Then I got a package of trading cards in the mail…